


A Bartender, a Peacekeeper, and a Six-Year-Old Walk Into a Bar

by Kitkatkimble



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Future Fic, Kid Fic, Let's-Trust-Asric-With-Small-Children Fic, M/M, Resolving Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatkimble/pseuds/Kitkatkimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asric wasn’t good at People.</p><p>Unfortunately, he had been blessed – or cursed – with a very, very large family. Ironically enough, he also happened to be one of the few members of said family that had a relatively safe environment for small elves to be around.</p><p>Yes, this is going exactly where you think it’s going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bartender, a Peacekeeper, and a Six-Year-Old Walk Into a Bar

Asric wasn’t good at People.

It was the proper, capital ‘P’, People, too. His talents ran towards the ‘bluff and run’ side of things, which was probably why he had no friends and no home to speak of either. Unless you counted Jadaar as a friend, which Asric kinda didn’t because not only was Jadaar ridiculously attractive, but he was also incredibly obnoxious, which meant that thinking of him as a friend only made Asric’s head hurt.

Give him mechanics any day. He vastly preferred picking locks and fiddling with devices to interaction.

Unfortunately, he had been blessed – or cursed – with a very, very large family. Ironically enough, he also happened to be one of the few members of said family that had a relatively safe environment for small elves to be around.

Yes, this is going exactly where you think it’s going.

“Aeda, I can’t look after a five year old for three months,” he protested. “I’m a bartender for Light’s sake. Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

“Please, Asric.” His third cousin once removed pouted at him. “I promise she’s a darling.”

“Takes after her mother,” he said darkly. “What do I get out of this?”

“My undying love and gratitude?”

“Sorry, love, but that doesn’t really pay the bills.”

Aeda rolled her eyes, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Fine, I’ll pay your rent while she stays with you. Spares you the extra cost of groceries and whatever. Keep her out of trouble, don’t corrupt her, and I’ll see you again in three months. Probably.”

“You will come back.” It wasn’t a question.

Aeda patted him on the cheek and gave him an unexpectedly fond smile. “Of course, silly. Draenor won’t know what hit it. Besides, you should see the Commander. I’ve heard they’re quite something.”

“Like the stories say?”

“Like the stories say.” She paused. “I’ll drop Emmeline over on Wednesday. Stay safe.”

“ _Al diel shala_.”

She left briskly, her robes swishing around her feet as she strode out. Somehow, she managed to avoid most of the nasty brine on the boardwalk, but Asric really didn’t expect any less. Aeda had always been regal. Something to do with his father’s side of the family, he’d heard, but considering his father had thought it acceptable to leave his mother with four young children, Asric wasn’t going to be extending any goodwill.

He sighed and looked around at his house. Well, it wasn’t exactly a house. More of a room with a few curtains hung around to give the illusion of rooms. Bedroom, bathroom, tiny stove and beaten up cupboard. But it was all he could afford, and jobs were hard enough to come by in Booty Bay if you weren’t keen on getting on a ship.

But it was his, and for the first time in, oh, twelve odd years, he was settled with something resembling steady income and _not_ drunk off his face every other night. Now, he was helping people like past-him get drunk. Ah, the circle of life.

Now he just had to figure out how he was going to juggle a small child along with everything else.

 

* * *

 

He’d looked after kids before. He was actually pretty decent with them, for some reason, although Light forbid he interact with adults at the same time. Then he just ended up embarrassing himself completely to both parties. Given his cheerfully (depressingly) single status, most of his family assumed that he was just a constantly available baby sitter who would happily look after their tiny demons when he was in the area. Which, alright, was not totally incorrect, because it kept him fed. But he resented the expectation. He hated expectations. He always managed to disappoint them.

He had made a short to do list for the week.

  1.      Bed for small child
  2.      Food also for small child
  3.      Pester Skindle about job



The first was easily done. Emmy needed somewhere to sleep, and he set up a small corner for her. Catelyn was happy enough to steal him a bed – she was a weird one, that woman – and he vaguely remembered Emmy’s favourite colour being purple, so he bought a pillow to match.

Meals were going to be tricky. He ended up eating leftovers more often than not, and his diet was about as far from healthy as you could get. Aeda would not be impressed if all Emmy got to eat was fish and beer.

“What do you feed five year olds?” he asked Kelsey, Booty Bay’s top cook.

“Food,” Kelsey said, helpfully. “Nah, I’m kidding. Fish’s good, if they’ll eat it, and vegetables. Might want to check in with Flora about those, though. I can bake you some bread each day if ya want it?”

Asric contemplated this offer for a full three seconds before clasping the proffered hand. “Deal.”

He did end up checking with Flora about the vegetables, because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten one that wasn’t in a fish stew. Apparently they were supposed to be green. Who knew?

Having ticked 1) and 2) off the list, he considered that a morning well spent, and went to work.

The Salty Sailor Tavern was a riotous place. It was somewhere between Dalaran Sewers and Darkmoon Faire, in that it was a complete mess but it felt more like atmosphere than laziness. Or sewerage. Booty Bay had a lot of problems, but sewerage was not one of them.

Asric nodded to Innkeeper Skindle before sliding behind the bar, waving to Whiskey Slim as he began his daily jaunt to oblivion. For a gnome, he sure could put down an impressive amount of alcohol. Asric sometimes wondered about the physics of that: the gnomes and dwarves were the smallest races, in terms of body density, and yet they hammered down truly staggering amounts of liquor and assorted mind-destroying liquids.

His drug of choice had always been bloodthistle, but he would settle for a pint where none was available.

He talked to Skindle after his shift. Skindle was an avid fan of haggling, and Asric spent a solid twenty minutes wheedling him until he relented.

“You can bring the kid here,” he said. “We’ll take care of her, right Nix?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Nixxrax said cheerfully. He was pretty odd, too. He was full of tall tales of his time at sea, but when pressed, would usually finish the story by claiming he had been marooned or some other nonsense. Giant sea monsters were often involved.

Actually, all of the residents of the Salty Sailor were oddballs. It was probably why he’d lasted so long there.

But, after several long years of working there, he’d fallen into their routine. It was nice. He imagined, with a small smirk, that this would have been what his life would have been like if he’d never left Silvermoon, only with less bloodthistle. Jadaar hadn’t been entirely wrong when he accused Blood Elves of being thistleheads, but he hadn’t been entirely right, either. That about summed up their relationship.

He wiped the thoughts of Jadaar out of his head and wandered home.

 

* * *

 

Because Aeda thought that time zones were for weaklings, she happily summoned a demonic gateway at arse o’clock in the morning. Asric woke to the ever-charming sound of Aeda swanning into his house – never mind the locks on his door – and a curious little girl following her.

Asric hadn’t seen Emmy since she was just a baby. She still looked like a tiny Aeda; straight blonde hair, big green eyes. She was wearing a bright purple dress and had a dragonhawk plushie fisted in one hand.

It had little fangs on it.

“Aeda, what have I told you about timing?”

“Nothing worth noting,” she replied cheerfully. “Em, you remember your Uncle Asric?”

Emmy gave Asric a piercing look, then nodded. “You sent me the elekk toy,” she said. “You and someone else. I called him Jumbo.”

Asric searched his memory, and thought he could recall picking up a stuffed elekk plushie at one point. Jadaar had hated it. “It’s a good name. I called him Hoof.”

“Elekks don’t have hooves, stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes, but let go of Aeda’s hand and came to sit on his lap. “This is Landra.”

She held up the dragonhawk.

“Lovely,” Asric said. “I’m just going to talk to your Minn’da for a second.”

He pulled Aeda outside and folded his arms. She rolled her eyes, sighed, and waved him on. “Fine, fine, get it over with.”

“Are you sure you want to go to Draenor?” Asric bit his lip. “I know it’s important, but what if something happens? I don’t want to get stuck with Emmy, she’d grow up terribly.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll be fine. Calendis was an idiot, and he got himself killed because he thought it would be a good idea to join up with Kael’thas.” Aeda’s face hardened. “I still want revenge, though.”

“You’re a warlock, and I’m a bartender. Stupid professions run in the family.” Asric leant his head back against the wall and sighed. There was a stray board under his foot; it creaked when he shifted. “Next time, don’t wake me up.”

“Next time, I’ll even bring you coffee.”

And with that, they parted ways.

 

* * *

 

Emmy was a darling.

Asric, secretly also a five year old, found it remarkably easy to get her settled in. She loved the bed, bouncing up and down on it excitedly. She asked to meet Catelyn, which Asric agreed to hesitantly; not because he didn’t trust Emmy, but because Catelyn was… an experience.

She wasn’t fussy, either, and seemed to genuinely love fish. Aeda hated it, so it was probably the novelty of the dish.

“I don’t like hawkstrider,” she admitted when they were sharing lunch. “It’s all white and dry and gross.”

Asric gave her the rest of the snapper. He hated hawkstrider too.

They settled into a rhythm after a few days. They played and fished and otherwise occupied themselves during the morning, had a long lunch, and then Asric went to work. Emmy came with him; at first, she only hung around Catelyn, because of what appeared to be a rather adorable hero-crush, but soon she had the entire staff wrapped around her little finger.

Skindle sidled up to Asric one evening. He was very good at sidling; it was a goblin thing, to be sure, but Skindle had a habit of popping up next to you in a way that always surprised you, but you somehow saw coming. Asric could appreciate that, from rogue to rogue.

“You know,” he said, grinning up at Asric, “that kid of yours ain’t so bad.”

“I can’t take the credit,” he said, wiping down what had once been a glass. “I’m just babysitting.”

“Well, if your cousin doesn’t come back, we’ll look after her.” Skindle fiddled in his pockets and drew out a battered leather journal and some sticks of coloured charcoal. “Here. Strom found ‘em in the pockets of that orc we kicked out yesterday.”

Asric took them, eyebrows raising, and he flicked through the journal. It was mostly blank, except for a few pages. He squinted at the orcish, trying to remember how to read it. He’d never been the literary sort, and while he could speak it, the written word still eluded him.

It seemed to be talking about some baby dragon and a woman called ‘Right’. Weird.

He pulled the pages out and stuffed them in a pocket. “Hey, Emmy!”

She jumped up and scampered over, Landra clenched in one hand.

“Look what Skindle nicked for you,” he said, crouching and passing her the journal. She grabbed it eagerly, nearly dropping Landra, but Asric’s hand shot out and caught the toy before it hit the floorboards.

“Can I use it?” she asked, looking across at Skindle. They were almost the same height.

He nodded, and she shrieked happily, bouncing over to the table she’d claimed as her own. Soon enough the pencils were spread over the wood, and she had her tongue stuck out in concentration as she drew something incomprehensible.

It became a running joke among the Salty Sailor staff that any pickpocketed items that were child friendly were given to Emmy. Catelyn gave her an assortment of ropes and caltrops, which Asric quietly filed down the next night when Emmy was asleep. Ian Strom gave her pencils and clips and other writing tools. Deeg, while not technically a staff member, was on shore leave, and gave her all sorts of bits of fabric that he showed her how to stitch together. She sucked at it, but she was five, so Asric supposed she had an excuse.

“It’s just a wee needle,” Deeg said. “She’s gotta learn how to use the sharp and pointies at some point.”

“Something tells me she’s going to prefer the hot and fieries,” Asric replied, but let them have their fun.

Crank Fizzlebub, while a very shoddy pickpocket, was a fantastic con man, and passed Emmy any of the valueless shiny things he found. She tried to eat the little piece of tigerseye at first. Whiskey Slim, who was banned from giving her alcohol, nonetheless snuck her a whole variety of different mocktails. It turned out Emmy had quite a fondness for Cinderellas.

Money was a little tight, but Asric had taken to doing a few extra chores here and there on the side. The good thing about Booty Bay was that once you had the connections, if you worked hard enough you could often get in touch with someone else who wanted help. And the Salty Sailor Tavern was _full_ of connections.

It was a Friday afternoon when the unthinkable happened. It was a good day; there were three ships in berth, and a whole bunch of sailors had been at the tavern the night before, resulting in a hefty number of tips. Asric had taken Emmy out to get a new dress, and she had demanded a piggyback ride. He swung her up onto his shoulders instead, and she laughed, pulling one of his ears before settling.

“I want it to be like Minn’da’s,” she decided. “It’s going to be red and brown with pointy bits on the shoulders.”

“That’s not going to match Landra.”

Emmy paused and thought about this. “I could colour Landra in?”

“Maybe we can.” He jiggled her about and she giggled. “Red?”

“Yeah! With green wings!”

Asric had never seen a red dragonhawk with green wings, but hey, it’d look cool as fel so why not?

They made their way up to the tailor’s, dodging around the odd puddle of unidentifiable liquids and smiling at the bruisers. Granzik was happy to make Emmy a dress, or at least, he was when Asric showed him his coin purse.

“Come back in a couple days,” he said. “I’ll have it ready.”

Emmy then insisted that they get fish for lunch. Asric was tempted to say no, but he really didn’t have anything better to offer and after all, fish was cheap. So, he picked Emmy up again and she directed him imperiously down towards the fish market.

They had just rounded the corner to the main way when Asric saw a familiar shape. Draenei, ridiculously tall, solid as a solider. There was only one person he knew like that:

“Jadaar?!”

Asric’s jaw dropped open, and he had to forcibly remind himself not to act like an idiot in front of Emmy.

Sure enough, the big blue blockhead was standing there, surreal in the business of the fish market. He looked well worn, marginally older than Asric had seen him last, with battered armour and a truly deadly looking mace. He was wearing a new eye patch. Asric was nearly sad at that – he had fond memories of the previous one – but this one was such a shade of noxious red that it almost made up for it.

“Asric,” Jadaar said, and the bastard didn’t even have the courtesy to act surprised.

Emmy tugged on Asric’s hair, and Jadaar looked up at her. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m…” Jadaar trailed off, and Asric picked it up with a roll of his eyes, “one of my friends. Emmy, this is Jadaar. Jadaar, this is my niece, Emmeline.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Jadaar said, as if speaking to a queen, and didn’t Emmy love that? She giggled happily and scrambled over to Jadaar, grabbing his hand to inspect the blue digits.

Jadaar gave him a curious look, and Asric shook his head. That was talk for after a few pints.

“What are you doing back in Booty Bay?” Asric asked, nodding towards the Salty Sailor. His shift would start in a few minutes, but Jadaar could keep Emmy company. She’d like that. “Realised that adventuring wasn’t for you? Decided to take my advice? Got tired of factions being petty? Come to beg my forgiveness?”

“Something like that,” Jadaar allowed, following Asric into the tavern. Emmy quickly ran over to her new table and began chattering with Skindle.

Asric nodded to the innkeep and swung behind the bar, pulling off his gloves and rolling up his sleeves. He still had a long while before the evening rush. He knelt down behind the bar and pulled out Emmeline’s crayons and her notebook, dusting off the jacket.

Emmy noticed it immediately and raced over, snatching it from Asric’s hands. He let her, because he was a pushover, and she traipsed back to her table to show Skindle something in it.

Jadaar took a seat in front of the bar. Asric didn’t want him to. Asric wanted him to buy a drink, tip heavily, then leave.

“How are you?” Jadaar asked, because he was one of the weird people who actually asked questions like that and meant it.

“I’ve been better,” he said snippily, then glanced at Emmy. “I’ve also been worse. How’s Arynthia?”

Jadaar looked mildly guilty at the mention of his wife. Asric felt a vindictive surge of pleasure, then squelched it. “She has moved on. She found another draenei, and may blessings be upon them.”

His pleasure fizzled out. “What, really?” He winced, hearing the tactlessness in his own words as they fled his mouth. “I’m…sorry. She was nice.”

Ironically enough, Asric really had liked Jadaar’s wife – ex-wife. Arynthia was sweet, and bloody scary, and more serious than Jadaar. Despite his jealousy, he’d always found it hard to dislike her, which was annoying because it was exactly the sort of petty thing Asric was good at. But she had patched him up when by all accounts, he should have been dead, and it was pretty hard to hate someone after that.

Besides, she was a battle-priest. Jadaar was scary, but at least you knew all he would do was hit you really hard on the head. Arynthia could mind control you and send you off a cliff.

“It was not your fault,” Jadaar said. Asric passed him a pint.

“So,” he continued, after enough time had been passed staring at the bar awkwardly. “Emmeline?”

“My third cousin once removed is going on the expedition to Draenor,” Asric said, shrugging. “She needed a babysitter.”

Jadaar raised an eyebrow. “And she chose you?”

Asric pouted, moving some glasses around purposefully. “Believe it or not, not everyone thinks I’m a waste of space. I’ve looked after kids plenty.”

Jadaar pointedly looked over to where Emmy was lecturing Whiskey Slim about purple dragons.

“She’s having fun,” Asric said sharply. “She’s safer here than anywhere else. Skindle likes her.”

“Damn right I do,” said the goblin proprietor, conveniently swinging by to pick up a few bottles of rum. “She drew me a picture of Nixxrax slaying a kraken. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.”

Jadaar looked at Asric, who looked at Skindle, who shrugged and grinned toothily. “She ain’t gettin’ hurt on my turf.”

“And that,” said Asric lightly, reaching up to catch a thrown glass from Catelyn, “is what you have missed in the last two years.”

 

* * *

 

They settled into an odd rhythm. Jadaar did odd jobs here and there, and babysat Emmy when Asric had his shifts. Emmy had taken quite a shining to the draenei; he listened intently when she told him about her pet mana wyrmling back in Eversong, and asked questions. Emmy _loved_ being asked questions.

“So what do mana wyrmlings eat?” Jadaar asked.

Emmy pushed her hands together and looked at him over her fingertips. “They’re s’posed to eat mana, but I think Vyei is ill, because he only eats bloodthistle and then he gets silly.”

Jadaar raised his eyebrows at Asric, who looked up from where he was mending socks and grinned wickedly. “Even our pets are hedonistic and depraved,” he muttered so only Jadaar could hear. Jadaar was not impressed, but then, he so rarely was.

“Also,” Emmy went on, “Minn’da keeps trying to feed him bits of fel but I don’t think he likes it very much. I think something’s wrong with him.”

Jadaar had, at this point, picked up that ‘Minn’da’ meant mother (if he hadn’t, Asric might have had to reconsider his intelligence). “Your mother deals with the fel?”

“Duh,” Emmy said. “Stupid. She’s a wardlock. She protects people and does cool swirly things.”

“Demonic gateways,” Asric explained under his breath. “Aeda’s creative.”

Jadaar nodded, a little disbelievingly, and Asric rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the condescending windbag.

Jadaar had somehow obtained a room near the tailor’s, ironically enough, and was busy trying to find steady work. He had mentioned talking to the bruisers, because with his previous peacekeeping experience it made the most sense. Asric thought he was stupid. There was no way he would fit into the bruisers’ uniform.

The idea was that Jadaar find passage next time a boat to Ratchet docked. Privately – because Asric did everything privately in Booty Bay, or else he’d lose whatever it was – he thought that this wouldn’t last long. Booty Bay had that effect.

He wasn’t going to tell Jadaar that, though. He liked his face as it was.

Emmy shoved a scrap of paper at Jadaar. “This is for you.”

Jadaar unfurled it, revealing what might have been a drawing of Jadaar beating back giant worms. Or demons. Asric wasn’t certain enough to say.

“Traitor,” he muttered, and tugged at the thread so hard it snapped.

 

* * *

 

“You know,” Skindle said at one point, “you spend a whole lotta time here.”

Jadaar nodded, looking up from where Emmeline was doodling in her journal. “I do.”

“Well,” Skindle continued, buffing his nails, “my old Splatter, he got himself thrown on board the Siren’s Call, and I just know I ain’t gonna see him again. And you’ve got a background in guard work. So I say, how about you work for me, keep this place mostly legal, in return for, oh, forty gold a month?”

Jadaar paused, just long enough so that he didn’t look too eager, then agreed on the spot.

 

* * *

 

It had been boiling up between them. Jadaar wasn’t so oblivious as to miss it, but he hadn’t expected it to reach the tipping point so quickly.

They had been at the Salty Sailor, because that was Asric’s second home and Emmeline wanted to show Nixxrax her most recent drawing (him on a pirate ship pulled by flying horses). Jadaar hadn’t initially been sure that allowing a five year old free reign in a tavern was a good idea, but it seemed as though Emmeline was, indeed, safer there than elsewhere. Even Baron Revilgaz seemed to recognise her, judging by his chuckle each time he passed her at her table.

Asric was in front of the bar, this time, having been volunteered for temporary waiter duty as Catelyn tried her hand at pulling pints. She wasn’t half bad.

It was an idle comment that set him off. Jadaar had always been confused by Asric’s temperamental nature; odd things caused him to blow up, but he was always quick to wave it away after the initial burst of anger. He used to be able to predict what not to say, but he was rusty, the familiarity lost.

“Your boots are wearing thin,” Jadaar noticed over his glass. Water – it was only two in the afternoon.

Asric’s back stiffened. “Yes, that’s generally what boots do,” he said snappishly.

Jadaar raised his eyebrows. “I was just pointing it out. I know someone who could replace them easily.”

Asric turned and glared at him, moving forward to drop his tray of empty tankards in front of Catelyn on the bench. It landed with a jarring thud. “Oh, I’m sure you know plenty of people who can replace my things.”

“What?” He frowned, not understanding what Asric had taken offense to. “I’m trying to help.”

“Catelyn, will you watch Emmy for a minute?” Asric asked, before grabbing Jadaar’s wrist and dragging him upstairs.

He was elfhandled into one of the guest rooms and Asric slammed the door.

“Listen, you complete dick,” Asric hissed, rounding on him, “I already know that my boots are worn. I already know that you know tons of people more skilled than me and more important than me and more wealthy than me. _I already know that I am replaceable._ So stop making it so glaringly obvious in front of Emmy that her uncle is a waste of space, because I _know,_ but she doesn’t; and sure, maybe I’m vain, but I don’t want her thinking the same of me too.”

“Asric, you are not a waste of space,” Jadaar said slowly, gently pushing Asric’s hands from his shoulders. “You have never been a waste of space, even if you are incredibly annoying and tactless. I do not seek to replace you. I only want to do what I can to help you and Emmeline.”

“I don’t want your pity, windbag.”

“I don’t pity you.” He snorted. “I never have. You have made it abundantly clear in the past that me pitying you would be nothing short of hypocrisy.”

Asric didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t look angry anymore, either.

Hopefully that would be enough.

“Then what?”

Jadaar shrugged. “We are friends. Friends help each other.”

“We don’t.”

It was true, but not as true as it could have been. “Then I think we should probably start.”

 

* * *

 

And then Emmy fell ill.

 

* * *

 

Asric woke to a horrendous coughing noise, sitting bolt upright on his tiny bed and looking around wildly. Emmy was curled up, coughing and wheezing. She sounded like she couldn’t breathe.

“Emmy!”

He leapt over to her, rolling her over and trying to remember the meagre first aid he had learnt. Clear her airways, clear her airways – he grabbed an unused washbucket still full of water, stuck his hand in, and started to boil it.

He hadn’t had to use magic in a long time, and he was sorely out of practice, but it did the job. At least this time he had remembered to protect his hand against the heat.

When steam began to rise, he sat Emmy up and rubbed her back, trying to get her to breathe the steam.

“Come on,” he said, close to tears. “If something happens to you because of a stupid illness Aeda will have my head.”

Emmy was trying to cry, but she couldn’t get enough air, and could only let out painful wheezes. She clutched at Asric, clearly terrified, and he rubbed her back as firmly as he could without further hurting her.

There wasn’t a doctor in Booty Bay – the last one had been crooked enough to walk through a corkscrew sideways, and had been summarily thrown to the Bloodsail Buccaneers. The closest was the resident alchemist, Jaxin Chong.

Her breathing wasn’t getting better.

Asric picked her up, shoved his feet in his boots, and bolted for the alchemist’s.

Jaxin didn’t appreciate being woken up any more than Asric himself did, but Emmy chose that time to start crying again, and he let them in.

“Please tell me you’ve got a potion for this,” Asric begged.

Jaxin looked worried, his brow furrowed, and he began pulling on his safety goggles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Asric sat there with Emmy for hours, another bowl of steaming water in his lap, until eventually Jaxin offered him two glowing bottles.

“This one’s a troll’s blood elixir, slightly modified, probably won’t explode,” he said, indicating the green one. “It should help ease the symptoms over time. This one,” he shook the purple one, “is an immediate relief that should give the troll’s blood more time to kick in. I dunno if I can fix the problem as is, though; not with my current components.”

“I could talk to Flora?” Asric tried. “If you know what you need? I’ll pay anything.”

Jaxin shook his head. “Flora won’t have them, she always lets me know when she gets a new shipment. Wish there was something more I could do, buddy.”

Asric nodded miserably, then set about the gruelling task of trying to get Emmy to swallow the potions. Given her current state, it was incredibly difficult; she only managed to swallow a few gulps of each before she shook her head and refused to budge.

“It looks like she’s gonna need a proper healer.”

“I know,” he gritted out, and picked her up again. “But there isn’t one, so this is all I can do.”

Jaxin frowned. “I thought them draenei had some weird healing power thing. Can’t your friend do it?”

Of course! Jadaar had told him about the Gift of the Naaru before, but he’d never used it – Asric had thought it had been a tiny thing that he could only use on himself.

“Jaxin,” he said seriously, “if you’re right, I am going to buy every single potion I ever need from you for eternity.”

“Good. Now bugger off.”

Asric buggered off, Emmy cradled in his arms, and made his way to Jadaar’s.

He hammered on Jadaar’s door, the wood creaking beneath his fist. Emmy wasn’t crying anymore, but it wasn’t a good sign – she was having too much difficulty breathing to cry.

“By the Sunwell, Jadaar, if you don’t answer the door I’m going to – ”

The door swung open, revealing a half dressed but nonetheless decent Jadaar.

“Oh, thank the Light,” Asric sighed in relief. He shoved Emmy at him. “Fix her.”

Jadaar looked down, did a double take, then swept the both of them into the room.

Asric barely had time to investigate his surroundings, but he habitually noted the basics. The room was similar to his, but less cluttered, with a very stoic atmosphere. It practically screamed Jadaar.

Emmy was laid on the bed, but she refused to let go of Asric’s hand. He perched on the edge next to her.

“What is wrong?” Jadaar asked.

“I just woke up and she was choking and wheezing and she couldn’t _breathe_ and she was crying and I didn’t know what to _do_ ; and Jaxin doesn’t know how to fix it and there isn’t a doctor here and I don’t know who else to ask and I know it’s late and rude but she’s really sick and I can’t _fix_ _it_ and – ”

He was abruptly cut off as Jadaar enfolded him in a hug. The height difference made it awkward; Asric’s face was smushed into Jadaar’s chest, and the fact that his shirt was clearly just thrown on and still unbuttoned didn’t make it any easier.

“Trust in the Light,” he said simply, then left Asric alone to tend to Emmy.

Asric watched curiously as a faint sigil made of light began to form on Jadaar’s brow, and his hands started to glow with holy light. A sense of peace and serenity emanated throughout the room.

Jadaar didn’t speak; his eyes shone golden.

Asric shut his eyes, and held on to Emmy’s hand.

The light in front of his eyelids dimmed a minute later. He cracked one eye open, looking to Emmy nervously. She was no longer wheezing. Her chest rose and fell perfectly normally.

He didn’t realise how scared he had been until he relaxed.

Jadaar clapped a hand on Asric’s shoulder and then brushed his palm against Emmy’s forehead. “She will be fine.”

He couldn’t form the words, but he knew that Jadaar had heard his ‘thank you’ anyway.

 

* * *

 

After that, everything seemed simultaneously better and worse. Better, because Asric and Jadaar had fallen back into their enjoyable routine of mockery, banter, and good-natured insults. Worse, because as Asric became more and more fond of Emmy, the more he was reminded that Aeda would be coming back someday to pick her up again.

He had received the odd letter from Aeda, always with one more enclosed for Emmy; a morbid precaution. She was well, working for the Horde commander now; the garrison was cold; she was sick of killing orcs; she was a shitty bodyguard. She sent him a lot of gossip, and a lot of rather depressing stories about the Iron Horde.

She also talked about meeting people in this alternate dimension who also existed here.

Asric tried not to think about that too much. Jadaar had been on Draenor at that time, and Light forbid that he have to deal with more than one.

Emmy stopped talking about Aeda after the first two months. Occasionally she’d laugh at something Asric didn’t understand, but when he asked, she’d just say that it reminded her of Minn’da.

By the time Emmy’s sixth birthday rolled around, Aeda had been gone for four months and Asric hadn’t received a missive in three weeks. Aeda had mentioned in her last letter that the war was intensifying, and the commander was sending them on more and more dangerous missions.

He tried to remain optimistic about it all.

The Salty Sailor was as cheerful as ever. Skindle and Whiskey Slim now had a whole book open on bar brawl victims, Deeg’s next drug of choice, and who would pick a fight first: Asric or Jadaar. Catelyn set about teaching Emmy valuable life skills; how to pick pocket, how to draw people’s faces, how to spin a good story. Strom taught her theoretical life skills; how to read and write different languages, geography; even Baron Revilgaz sometimes came downstairs to drop off a picture book on sailing. It was kind of sweet, if Asric weren’t so certain that she’d turn out more like him than a well adjusted member of the sin’dorei.

Jadaar made an excellent bouncer. Half the time he didn’t even have to do anything, he was just so big that even tauren sailors thought twice before starting fights. When they did start, though, he would wade through serenely, immediately isolate the perpetrators and motivators, and hang them up by the backs of their shirts on some specially made pegs in the wall. Emmy used them for drawing practice.

“Stop frowning,” she said to one troll who had thought that throwing a crate of beer at the bartender was a good idea. “I can’t draw frowny faces.”

“Keep frowning,” Catelyn called. “She needs the practice!”

Asric tossed Skindle a silver.

Jadaar sat down in a bar stool and let out a low chuckle. “I missed this.”

“What? Sitting in bars?”

“Moron. I do not miss Dalaran at all.”

Asric laughed and reached for a glass. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It really was.”

Asric pulled out one of the nicer bottles of gin and poured them both a glass, then toasted Jadaar. “To paying jobs and actual beds.”

“To irreverent elves and longsuffering draenei,” he agreed, and they drank.

 

* * *

 

They celebrated Emmeline’s seventh birthday with a small party. Kelsey made them cake, and it had green icing, Emmeline’s new favourite colour. Jumbo and Landra made an appearance, and a new animal joined their troupe – a stuffed parrot that Emmeline decided to call Katie.

She definitely had a hero crush on Catelyn.

“You’d be going to school if you were in Silvermoon,” Asric said, grinning widely. “Do you want to get stuck in a classroom learning about magical theory?”

“No!” Emmeline yelled, then giggled as Asric picked her up and swung her over his shoulder, laughing all the while. Emmeline loved it, and was laughing her head off. Jadaar smiled. It was nice to see the two of them so happy.

“Jadaaaaaar!” Emmeline cried, as Asric began to tickle her feet. “Help me!”

“You must think your way out of the situation,” he said, holding back a laugh. Emmeline’s forehead creased in thought, and then she dived, winding her arms around to tickle Asric in the stomach. He let out a shriek and laughed harder, and she tumbled over his shoulder to land on her feet. She was quite agile, Jadaar had noticed; maybe it was an elf thing.

She got her revenge on Asric shortly, tackling him and tickling him until he was crying. He eventually won out, and swung her around in the air.

“Ann’da!!!” she cried. “Put me down!”

Asric’s face abruptly blanched, and he did so – then bolted out the door.

Emmeline and Jadaar were left standing there, Jadaar confused and Emmeline upset.

“Where did he go?” she asked, tears already bubbling.

Jadaar picked her up and settled her on his shoulder. “I think he’s feeling ill,” he said carefully. “I will go check on him. Do you want to go see Catelyn?”

She shook her head. “I want to see Ann’da.”

This was going to be fifty shades of awkward.

They searched high and low, even going so far as to look through the tunnel leading out of Booty Bay. The bruisers hadn’t seen him; Jadaar wasn’t surprised. Asric could be a slippery bugger when he wanted.

Eventually, Jadaar called it quits. Emmeline was quickly tiring, and he settled her on his hip awkwardly. Asric made it look so easy. Luckily Emmeline was almost asleep, or she would probably have given him a stern lecture about how she should be seated on his shoulders like a proper queen.

He had to admit, she was a pretty cute kid. Not as cute as draenei children, obviously – ha, the _thought_ – but she wasn’t as mischievous as the other sin’dorei children he’d known in Shattrath. They had been terrible; an entire army of tiny Asrics, determined to make his life an absolute misery.

A long time ago he’d thought Asric was the Light’s way of telling him that he was a terrible person. It had been the only way to explain away the incredible irritant. Yet, through coincidence, happenstance, and a tiny bit of premeditation, they’d come to be fast friends.

Arynthia had laughed at him when he’d explained to her how Asric was his _friend,_ nothing else _,_ and she had patted him on the head. The ‘yes, dear’ went unsaid.

He was beginning to suspect what she had meant by it.

Sure, they’d slept together. They’d been off their faces and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. For the most part, it had been thoroughly enjoyable, but neither of them spoke about it afterwards. Jadaar had assumed that it was simply Asric being hedonistic again.

Their cultures were so different that Jadaar had known better to assume that it had any particular significance. He knew the reputation of blood elves. Fel, he’d been to Silvermoon – you couldn’t get much more extravagant and debauched than that.

He put Emmeline to bed and fiddled with his eye patch. He couldn’t leave her alone, but he needed to find Asric.

“We’ll keep look out,” came a voice from the shadows, and Skindle, Nixxrax, and Crank stepped out. Skindle was carrying a ladle, and Crank had a firm hold on what looked like someone’s peg leg. “Ain’t no one touches the kid without getting through us.”

Jadaar was touched, but didn’t say as much, because Crank would probably hit him.

And so he set off to find Asric.

He eventually found him on the roof of the Salty Sailor.

“Sod off, oaf,” Asric said, but Jadaar completely ignored him and settled himself down. It was a warm night, just like literally every other night in Stranglethorn, and he shrugged off his overshirt.

“Does she have another father?” Jadaar asked.

Asric snorted. “Not one with any decency. Aeda’s always had shit taste in men.”

Jadaar ‘hmmm’d non-committedly.

Silence reigned for a long while, until Asric sighed and glanced up at Jadaar. “Why are you here?”

“Because a friend is upset and I wish to help him.”

“No, I mean,” he laughed bitterly. “Why are you in Booty Bay?”

Jadaar paused. He had the feeling that this was one of those critical points in their relationship, and this time, he was determined not to screw it up. Not that the last one had been entirely his fault; it had been more of a mutual fuck up, but they were both in better places now. Marginally.

“Because I missed you,” he finally settled on, “and I realised that even if you were a selfish, incompetent dandy, perhaps I only knew what Shattrath had made you.”

He met Asric’s eyes, and Asric blinked.

“Now you’ve gone and made me feel bad,” he complained. “I feel obligated to apologise to you now.”

“I didn’t hold it against you. I always knew you were possessive to a fault.”

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

“Perhaps,” he said lightly. “Or perhaps not.”

Asric punched him on the shoulder and then slumped to lie on the boards, snorting softly. “You just like pretending you’re oh so wise and mysterious. I see right through you.”

This time, the silence was much friendlier. But Jadaar was only truly reassured when Asric shifted and sprawled across him, hair itching Jadaar’s chin and feet in the air like a child. Asric was tactile, and although he didn’t like to admit it, so was Jadaar.

“What about you?” Jadaar asked. “Did you have a father?”

He felt more than heard Asric’s answering laughter. “Probably. Don’t know where he is. Don’t care. You?”

“He died when we fled Draenor. He was a good man.”

“That sucks. Sorry.”

“As am I.” Jadaar looked over. “Emmeline could do worse than you, you know.”

“Don’t psychoanalyse me.”

“I’m only saying it because she loves you, and she doesn’t know how else to display that affection.” Here he paused, then chuckled. “At least, in any way that someone as flighty as you would understand.”

“At least I’m not staid and boring.”

“I’m not boring.”

“Prove it.” Asric stuck his head up and twisted to meet Jadaar’s amused gaze.

Jadaar’s lip twitched, and without further ado – surprisingly, as they had certainly been known to carry on for much longer – he slung an arm over Asric’s back and pulled him forward into a kiss. He could feel Asric’s smile on his lips.

Asric twined his hands in Jadaar’s hair, tugging teasingly at the strap of his eye patch, and pressed in closer. Jadaar nearly laughed at the sudden possessiveness, but was understandably distracted. Asric really was good at kissing. It was probably all the practice.

He slid his hand down to hold Asric’s waist, and his good eye slipped shut just as Asric gently tugged the eye patch off.

“You’re so dumb,” Asric said, breaking the kiss. “Two years and not even a fucking letter. Another six years before that and I’ve never seen you without the eye patch.”

“You never told me you were interested.”

Asric laughed and kissed him again. “In an old windbag like you? Never.”

“Brat,” he murmured, and opened his eye. He could feel the breeze on his ruined right eye, a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Asric was watching him. “We should take this downstairs.”

Asric rolled off him and offered him a hand, and somehow they made it downstairs and into one of the few free rooms above the tavern without getting arrested for multiple counts of public indecency.

“We’ve got approximately five hours before Emmy’s going to wake up and get cross,” Asric said, sliding his hands up Jadaar’s chest and looping them around his neck. “Make them count.”

“Oh,” replied Jadaar, leaning down to kiss him, “I intend to.”

 

* * *

 

“And then they lived happily ever after, the end.”

Emmy sat back, folding her arms and smiling superiorly. The fifteen year old had nailed it this time, she knew it.

Asric pouted. “There were no dragons.”

“There’re no dragons in Stranglethorn, idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Right, Dah’tar?”

Jadaar nodded. “Not that I have met. But if I meet one, I will be sure to tell you, Asric.”

“I got it right, though?” she demanded, drawing their attention back to her. Honestly, her dads were so useless. _She_ was the storyteller, they should be listening to _her._

“Hmmm…” Asric scratched his goatee. “I don’t know. I think I was much cooler than that.”

“You always think that,” she said, “but that doesn’t make you right.”

Jadaar coughed, and Asric shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“It was wonderful,” Jadaar assured her, “if not completely accurate.”

She sighed and slumped down onto the table. She had her notebook in front of her and a bunch of pencils, and she picked one up and began doodling. A tiny drawing of Skindle fighting off bog monsters began to take shape. “I still can’t believe you won’t tell me the proper story.”

“It’s probably not as exciting as you would think,” Jadaar said with a low chuckle. “But maybe one day. When you’re older.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say,” Asric said before Emmy could complain. “Em, are you going to let him sit there and say that?”

“No,” she said, a wicked grin forming, and threw herself over the table to attack Jadaar in a flood of tickles.

“You really are your father’s daughter,” Jadaar said, after Emmy relented and granted mercy.

“Which one?”

Asric and Jadaar shared a look. Actually, Emmy thought, it was probably a Look. Normal looks were nowhere near as significant, even if she didn’t have any idea what either of them were thinking.

“I think that’s obvious,” Jadaar said dryly.

Asric preened, and Emmy laughed, and Jadaar watched them fondly, and all was well.

Then a dark skinned man in a turban slammed the door open and dragged in an unconscious blond, but that’s another story.

**Author's Note:**

> this one goes out to mipeltaja for utterly ruining me with her gorgeous a/j art go find her on tumblr i beg of you because you will cry and it will be worth it
> 
> side note: as much as i like her, aeda is a fucking shitty bodyguard. shes not dead so dont worry, she just got sent on an intergalactic mission by the horde commander because they wanted her out of their garrison. the alliance commander was laughing at them too much. she eventually makes her way back to azeroth and pays for emmeline's uni fees because em wants to study magical art (because do you really think the elves would stop at levitating brooms???) and then they all live happily ever after the end


End file.
